


sour, maybe sweet

by beebuzz



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, M/M, Post-Time Skip, inconspicuously using food to get closer to someone's heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebuzz/pseuds/beebuzz
Summary: At eleven years old, Atsumu forced the thought into Osamu’s head not for the first time, but perhaps it was the beginning of any real consideration.“Aren’t you afraid when you meet yer true love they’re gonna take one look at yer face and be terrified at how ugly it is?”-on accepting you don't get to choose the way or pace in which you fall
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 9
Kudos: 217





	sour, maybe sweet

At eleven years old, Atsumu forced the thought into Osamu’s head not for the first time, but perhaps it was the beginning of any real consideration. 

“Aren’t you afraid when you meet yer true love they’re gonna take one look at yer face and be terrified at how ugly it is?” Seated beside him and kicking his feet off the side of the porch, Atsumu leaned forward to stare up at him. “I do. It’s sad to think my only brother is never gonna find someone to love him.”

Osamu shifted back on his hands and sighed into the dusk. “We have the same face, idiot.”

“Nuh-uh!” Atsumu turned and hurried to sit on his knees. “Mine’s better.”

“Yeah? In what way?”

“I dunno- a lotta ways.” He threw on a foul look before poking at Osamu’s nose and squishing it up. “And if I were as ugly as you, I’d do the world a favor and just start wearin’ a bag over my head now.”

Swatting his hand away, Osamu threw out the hiss of “ _ Dick- _ ” without another thought.

Atsumu paused if only long enough to gasp and cradle his wrist. Then he was pulling out some mix of a grimace and a smirk as he stumbled to his feet. “Well, at least I’m not gonna be in trouble for cursin’.” He turned and bounded into the open door of the house without giving Osamu a chance to catch his ankle, shouting with twisted satisfaction as we went,  _ “Mom-!” _

Even from then on, Osamu had never understood the concept of slowly falling for someone. Unlike his brother, he definitely didn’t believe in truelove. Maybe he thought he did- once- years ago- but  _ slow _ ?

Certainly, if it happened slowly, he would’ve recognized it at some point. There would’ve been a sign- or even just a whispered hint to his subconscious. 

He wasn’t stupid. He’d been confessed to before- knew it was coming every time. He could see their intentions, feel the sway of their confidence, notice the slightest twinge of flustered indecision in their eyes. Falling slowly wasn’t realistic.

If it had happened slowly, he would’ve known. Should’ve known. Shouldn’t have been so humiliated the first time it happened and he abruptly realized his own unfortunate disposition. 

It made sense that it had been Suna. They were closer than just teammates or friends. But even knowing it was logical; how could everyone talk about falling slowly when this blew through his chest, a thousand bullets littering shrapnel in his lungs and making him deflate into nothing more than an embarrassed, pining ghost in someone’s oblivious shadow.

Naive, dumbstruck, startled into awareness- Osamu fell fast and unforgiving. 

But that type of love- starry-eyed love- the first taste of spring after a cold winter sort of love- it sparked bright but fizzled fast.

With time, the insects nesting between his ribs that fluttered their wings or chirped every time Suna talked to him or looked at him began to escape, fly away, set him free bit by bit until he had more room to breathe and a soft spot in his chest for another to fill.

It was for the best. Suna moved during the summer after high school, anyway. He had better things to do with his life that wait around for Osamu, anyway. And Osamu had plans for himself-

_ Anyway _ , the world continued to turn even without his self-proclaimed, once-thought truelove gone awry. Even if the cold snow returned in the months following Suna’s departure, now that he knew there were blooms and sunlight and life temporarily laying dormant beyond that, he could wait to have the match struck again. The pop of a flame would ignite in him eventually and, this time, he’d see it. This time, he’d feel himself tumbling through a pounding heart and flushing skin because  _ this time _ \- he’d know. And he’d be ready.

All of that nonsense was something Osamu kept in the dim corners of his mind since the last cricket leapt from his skin and any hint of romance was covered by the tarp of his professional goals. For years he focused on his new dream, the one that fell outside of squeaky shoes and grueling hours of training. Still, the same sense of accomplishment came once there was a restaurant under his name and a van full of equipment ready to set up shop nearly everywhere he went.

Ignoring the begging done by most of the team, he’d avoided setting up outside of the Jackals’ matches for as long as he could. The satisfaction of pocket-warm yen being handed over was enticing; but was it worth the suffering brought by such a close proximity to Atsumu’s incessant bragging?

The first time he’d come, got his booth ready, cleared his mind for an evening of steady work, his brother’s grating coo nearly made him chop a finger off-

“If y’wanted to be by the court so bad, shoulda kept playin’, huh ‘Samu? Too bad you can’t even smell the floor cleaner from way out here. But that’s okay, I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you while I’m livin’ the dream.”

Then he’d flit away after spouting whatever taunt he’d put half a thought towards. Osamu never paid him much mind anymore. The majority of shit that flew out of Atsumu’s mouth wasn’t genuine and Osamu had always prided himself on being exceptionally good at tuning him out entirely.

But after a while, Osamu had come to realize there was a risk to being at these games that forced a peculiar blip into his routine. It came in the calm, if not unnerving, existence of Fukuroudani’s former setter - “ _ it’s Akaashi, Miya-kun _ ”- he was presently informed after having referred to Akaashi as something he hadn’t been for years. And when Akaashi remarked that he couldn’t remember the last instance he intentionally picked up a volleyball; he held the same listless nostalgia that Osamu often heard in his own voice each time Atsumu forced him to recount their high school memories.

Akaashi attended every match close enough to travel to- Osamu learned early on he still lived in Tokyo, he didn’t care much for long train rides or crowds but he didn’t mind the rainy season, he was especially thankful he could walk to his office from home even when it snowed or when the sidewalk was hot enough to burn your skin- they were normal things to remember, Osamu refused to believe he was listening too intently-

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see him the first time, considering how dependent on him Bokuto had seemed during any high school set Osamu’d managed to catch a glimpse of. The officious corner of his brain wondered loudly how deep that friendship ran. How close they must still be. If it had ever been more like his own- been anything close to what he had unwittingly felt for Suna-

This evening, like each before, Akaashi hadn’t noticed the sly glances watching him closely as he peered into the display case. His lips moved a lot as he thought, pinched, slid from one corner of his mouth to the other.

It was fascinating.

It threatened to spill over into endearing.

“ _ Hey _ , Akaashi, try this one.”

Akaashi jumped from his pondering with the sudden approach but nonetheless whispered a hello and narrowed his eyes at the tiny card reading  _ Umeboshi _ in front. “Since when have you-?”

It shouldn’t matter that the way he smiled made something weird flip in Osamu’s stomach.

It  _ didn’t _ matter that the question sent him to this very spot a month ago when Akaashi mentioned only in passing that it was his favorite filling.  _ Sure _ , it wasn’t explicitly said, but-

With the last of the post-game crowd dispersing, a soft clearing of a throat pulled the call over Osamu’s shoulder as he continued to fit the rest of his supplies into their containers, “Sorry, I’m all packed up for the day. We’ll be back here at the next match if you don’t mind-”

“Miya-san,”

The tone he recognized. The polite wavering made him freeze with a cutting board halfway in the box. Shoving it in and turning on his heels, he let his head fall with the swoop of his eyes to the floor, to the side, back up, “Ah- hi- hello-”

Hands clasped behind his back, Akaashi gave a gentle nod in return.

“Hey,” Osamu repeated, dipping his head much the same while stepping closer to the untallied register. “Listen, y’don’t have to call me Miya-san every time you stop by. We’re friends now, right? I mean, you can if you want, but just Miya is fine- or nothin’ at all if you don’t wanna-” 

“Miya,” 

“ _ Yes? _ ” The speed at which low-voiced mumbling turned to being at Akaashi’s beck and call brought the burn of embarrassment to his cheeks, only soothed slightly by the amused twitch of Akaashi’s smile. “Sorry, if I had known you were comin’, I woulda left some out.”

“That’s not necessary. I was being dragged around by some old classmates. They’re all a bit rowdy; and I’m sure you’re aware how intent Bokuto-san is on giving thorough details after each match. I must’ve lost track of time,”

“It’s not required that you come spend yer money here. I believe we can survive without our most loyal customer for one match-” Watching the smallest fall of Akaashi’s mouth made him reroute quickly with a step away. “But I- ah  _ shit _ , I can still offer some takana,” He moved without waiting for a reply, already unpacking the cooler to gather what was left. “They’re not as fresh as usual, but people aren’t really buyin’ them so I have plenty. Guess it’s time to start thinkin’ of somethin’ new.”

“Have you ever tried umeboshi? I’m sure you have, but-”

“Can’t stand it.” Came the untimely reply with a scrunch of his nose.

“What a shame,” The encroaching hesitancy to the words made Osamu turn back. Akaashi’s face remained pleasant enough, but there was a fogginess to his downward stare. If Osamu could have chewed his own leg off, he would’ve done it right there with Akaashi bearing witness to how much of an inconsiderate fool he was. “I suppose it’s not a very refined flavor. Maybe we need to discuss the different possibilities then.”

Osamu pushed out a sigh before stepping back over. The heavy air through his nose took the place of any embarrassing apology he was sure to spout if he gave his tongue the chance. “Would if I could.” Grabbing a bag on his way, he tucked the leftovers down in the bottom before folding the top and setting it onto the table. “I have to pack everything up and get it in the van. I’m tryin’ t’get back before the shop closes.”

“I can help clean up.”

“Nah, it’s fine. This shit’s heavy, I wouldn’t wanna make you-”

“I’m not exactly weak.”

Jaw flexing and opening for a quick inhale, he nodded through the reply. “Never would’ve assumed that.”

Abrupt quiet fell between the snag of grey on blue as his gaze flicked up and the weight of something that should have been nothing past cordial conversation settled heavy on his shoulders.

Akashi was the first to break. His chin tucked down and to the side before being played off by a glance and reach for the bag. He pulled it from the table and into the curl of his arm with a tender care not necessary for something inanimate.

“I’ll let you continue. Thank you for these.”

“I’ll see ya at the next match.”

Akaashi seemed to dither before shuffling the bag from one arm to the other and speaking low, “I’ll be out of town. Conference for work. It’s-” Shoulder pinching up, he tilted his head toward it to push at a near grimace. “I’m not all that excited to begin with. It’s not important. I just won’t be here- Though, after that-”

“Whenever.” Their eyes caught again, every second of it more tempting and agonizing than the last. Always coming with an addictive sort of unease that promised everything that remained unattainable. “I’ll be here.”

“The next one.”

Courteous nods, lips curved just shy of smiles, a proper farewell between two acquaintances that maybe weren’t friends at all.

But their movements were slow, and the pauses hung, and there was something that was out of place. Something that fell far past acquaintances, barely felt a thing like friends; off by itself and shrouded in a thick haze that crept closer, pulled in by each hopeful breath.

Before the fog could clear and Osamu could enclose the meaning in his eager grip, Akaashi slipped away from him with the ease of thinking no one would remember his presence once he was out of sight. But urbane and charming in his own perplexing sort of way, thoughts of him never failed to linger. They came and went, quieted somewhat, but always drifted back in eventually. 

The most recent had been louder, more distracting, than usual- it berated him until two weeks passed and he gave in under the memory of Akaashi’s content smile that had lodged itself within the folds of his brain. 

Atsumu had come into the restaurant, slumped against the counter to lament about whatever fickle emotion was bothering him most that week.

Osamu didn’t know why he was obsessing over this- why he was so insistent that he do this- why he had spent hours scrounging for a market where he could find the perfect fruit- but he couldn’t stop himself.

“-I don’t wanna be yer guinea pig.” Atsumu griped into the bend of his arm.

“Just fuckin’ taste it and tell me if it’s shit.”

“ _ Jeez _ \- Testy tonight.” Atsumu squinted at it, picking a piece of dried rice off the edge. “Why’re you even makin’ this one? You hate pickled ume.”

“Why do y’think I’m makin’ you eat it then? Use yer tiny brain for once.”

Maybe his tone was edging on defensive. Atsumu could surely hear it, but he wasn’t dumb enough to poke at him there. Atsumu would bother him about it later on their walk to the train station.

Osamu would lie through his teeth.

“A good chef doesn’t just make what they like. I’m bein’ diverse.”

“Yer bein’ weird.”

“Shove it in yer fat mouth and shut up.”

“Also-  _ chef?  _ Think yer a big shit now, huh?”

Fixed with a glare and the point of a knife, Atsumu gave a quick roll of his eyes before taking a bite from the bottom and ripping out the middle with it. Osamu could complain about that technique later-  _ later  _ when his heart wasn’t in his throat about the mere thought that he might not be able to perfect the one that had come to matter most.

“It’s fine as always,” was Atsumu’s huff after chewing.

“Just _ fine? _ What does it need? Is it too salty? Something to offset the sour? Does it-”

“Okay, okay, shit- it’s good-” Sitting back, eyes rounding until falling into a scowl, Atsumu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Get the wadded up panties outta yer ass and chill.”

Tray extended out, another couple onigiri set meticulously crafted and ready to go. “Taste these too. They gotta be consistent.”

“Fuckin’ fine- but only ‘cause yer creepin’ me out.”

The near sparkle behind finger-smudged glasses brought him back with a dire need for movement.

Pulling one from behind the display and wrapping it quickly, Osamu begged his tone to be as casual as possible. “You mentioning it last time got me thinkin’. Figured I’d try my hand. People seem to like ‘em, so I guess I owe you.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Here.” He thrusted it forward with a zealous smile that bordered on overbearing. “Free of charge.”

“I couldn’t. Please, let me-”

“I already said, didn’t I? I owe you.”

Akaashi looked unsure in the way he took it. Under expectant eyes, he peeled away the paper and ducked his head a bit with the bite. “It’s delicious-” Mouth full, a bit of fruit stuck to his lips, so unlike the orderly way he chose to carry himself, “I’m not surprised,” He let out a laugh with the smile he only donned in these moments when he appeared almost temporal enough to reach out and touch. “But it won’t be any good for my health if you start making these regularly. I’d be sure to double my weight because of rice alone. Especially if they keep being free. You know, it’s not very smart business sense to keep handing your product away.”

Osamu didn’t want to tell him about the intrusive thought muttering he’d still be handsome even if he became just as plump and bottom-heavy as the onigiri in his hand. Or let on that his smile and laugh were worth more than Osamu would make in a week. Or say that he’d do just about anything to walk out of the booth and follow Akaashi anywhere- that he’d give him a thousand things for free if that meant he’d keep coming back.

Something trilled within his chest.

The realization of it all hit hard and unexpected.

Again, he was stuck not noticing a damn thing until it was too late and he was playing catch up with his sprinting imagination.

“Say, Aka-” 

“ _ Oi!  _ Akaashi!” The voice came loud from the crowd where a man was sending over a scowl as Akaashi turned. The rational piece of Osamu currently being overshadowed by impulsivity sang graciously for the interruption. “Hurry up, would you? I wanna sit down!”

Akaashi waved him off, not saying anything before he turned back around. The smile was still there, but it was a bit tight at the edges and his brows twitched before smoothing over. 

“ _ Sorry, _ ” He breathed quickly as if it were a reflex he’d done time and time again without ever considering what he was apologizing for. “Did you mean to say something?”

In truth, Osamu wasn’t entirely sure what unfiltered thought had been about to come from his mouth. He didn’t want to think about it, but his time of having that choice was near inexistent. 

“No- I’m just glad they taste good.”

“You shouldn’t worry. I may be biased, but I don’t believe you could make anything unpleasant.”

“Ah- Thank you.”

“No need,” Wrapping the onigiri up, he shifted, rocked on his heels, idled without finding something to fill the space until, “I should probably get going then.”

It didn’t sound as sincere as it could have, but Osamu tried not to root around in the pause for a meaning.

“Enjoy the rest of the match.”

“You too-” With that, Akaashi’s smile soured again. Possibly even  _ embarrassed _ \- The purse of his lips came first, then a small sigh covered hastily by a rush of words. “ _ Mm,  _ I mean, I hope business goes well today.”

With that nod shared between them, Akaashi turned.

But this was different. 

When he left, he abandoned Osamu amongst the whirring of his own baffled thoughts. As if it were suddenly attached to a string tied around Akaashi’s finger, one of them was ripped out from the rest. It smacked against the inside of his skull with a force that pitched him forward until he was catching himself by a hand beside the register.

With his next breath returned the near forgotten tickle of wings against his lungs. He shivered, eyed the way the skin on his arm prickled, and heard himself laugh before even realizing his mouth had drawn up.

This time, he knew. 

“ _ Miya-san, _ ”

He still wasn’t ready- but the idea of a challenge hadn’t felt quite so invigorating in years.

“ _ Miya-san-? _ ”

Blinking fast, he flinched to find his assistant hovering over his shoulder with one gloved hand and a knife waving in front of him with the other.

“Amano, please, don’t swing yer knife around like that-”

“Sorry, you were staring into space.” She lowered her hand then, frowning slightly. “Was that customer rude to you?”

“ _ No, no _ , nothing like that.”

“Then, are you okay?”

Mind cleared, head bobbing in a quick nod, he felt his smile grow wide and warm enough to thaw the last bit of chill from his core.

“Better than ever. Let's get to work.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter [ @scuttlebuttles](https://twitter.com/scuttlebuttles?s=17)  
> 


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